by Ben Boswell
Oh God, oh God! She hadn’t even showered since she’d fucked Damon. At least he hadn’t come inside her, but still. This was wrong. So wrong. So fucking wrong.
“Oh God,” she moaned as he sucked her clit into his mouth.
It was almost painful. Almost, but not quite. Or maybe it was, but the pain was overwhelmed by the pleasure of it. Not unlike her time with Damon, and as Jeff ate her enthusiastically, she thought of Damon, of him pressing his huge prick into her virgin ass, of how he’d shown her that pain and pleasure were not always opposites, but sometimes co-joined, co-conspirators in an intensity of experience.
“Oh God, baby, you’re so wet,” Jeff moaned.
She looked down at him, his face glazed with her juices. Without even thinking she reached down and grabbed his head with both hands, forcing him back down against her sex. He didn’t resist. Instead he resumed his vigorous tonguing, his hands squeezing her firm ass roughly. She began thrusting her hips, slinging her pussy against his face.
She felt beyond sexy. Wicked. Heather had never felt wicked before. But there was no other way to describe it. She’d spent the last three days getting fucked raw by her stud of a lover, and now, without even a shower in between, she was holding her husband’s head, forcing him to eat her dirty, cheating cunt.
“Oh God,” she cried again, shuddering.
Jeff’s tongue, his hands on her ass… and the memory of riding Damon’s fat prick while the limo driver watched from the front…. It was all too much. She gasped and shook as waves of pleasure washed over her. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close.
She grabbed Jeff’s hair and lifted him off. Then she spread her legs wide. The lights were on in their bedroom, and she knew he could see everything. Her swollen, wet, twat, her pulsing pink asshole. He seemed shocked and overwhelmed. Understandably because she’d never exposed herself this way to him.
“Heather…” he mumbled.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she grunted.
His eyes went wide with disbelief, but instinct took over. He fumbled with his jeans, yanking them down to expose his erection, angry red and leaking pre-come. He threw himself at her and stabbed at her pussy, once, twice, before finding his mark and driving it home.
Heather gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, pausing.
“Don’t stop,” she replied.
Her hands found his ass and urged him on. She could tell he was torn between a desire to fuck her hard and his concern about hurting her. But her hunger quickly won him over. He started thrusting harder, harder than he’d ever fucked her. And for a moment, she was back with Damon, beneath him, being driven mad by his deep, hard thrusts. And now again with Jeff, kissing with an unprecedented urgency.
She felt him seize up and shudder. He collapsed onto her, both of them sweating.
“Oh God, Heather. Oh God,” he gasped.
“I know. I know,” she moaned softly.
“You can go on vacation whenever you want,” he added.
“I’m just happy to be back,” she replied.
But her mind was again on Damon, racing through the still fresh memories of her time with him. It made her feel guilty, and yet, there was no doubt that Jeff was happy and grateful.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There is that moment, some time after the middle of the night, before the coming of dawn, between waking and sleep, between dreams and fantasy. A moment of plausible deniability. Heather wasn’t fantasizing about Damon, not consciously at least, but also not completely unintentionally. He was just there, in her mind. And she could almost feel him, the sensation intimate and physical.
It wasn’t clear where they were. Not exactly, at least. A shifting sequence of the familiar and the new. Talking, silly, and laughing. A nightclub, no, not quite. A party. Fancy. But no loud music, and despite that the words were indistinct. Heather and Damon, together, but not quite acknowledging it. Huddled together, half hidden, as if worried about being discovered.
Jeff was in the room. She knew it. But she couldn’t see him. He was circulating at the periphery of her awareness. And Damon was encouraging her to go off with him. Pulling at her, or not quite. Teasing and tempting. Jeff still indistinct, but still out there. And then a door opening, but not a door, and not a passage, but the room widening and closing, and then suddenly she and Damon were in a hallway of alcoves. Private, yet public. Public, yet private.
And then, in that way that dreams time-shift, they were half-dressed. She was stroking his girth. His hands seemed to be everywhere. Cupping her cheek, his thumb circling her nipple, palming her thigh, a thick finger pressing deliciously inside her. People walking by, but not noticing, or maybe noticing, but not deterring them, and Jeff nearby, close enough to hear her moans, but not close enough to object.
Recognizing the surreality of the dream, but waking only segueing into a new situation. Still with Damon, their bodies even more intertwined. But Jeff. And Jeff. A weird wish. That he too could be there. Or maybe with someone else. No. Now a weird darkness intruding. Guilt and shame. But still clinging closer to Damon.
***
Heather shuddered awake. Or was she? The dream had been so real, and then so quickly began to fade. Where had they been? Only the sensation of Damon seemed real. Everything else was… fuzzy.
She glanced over at the alarm clock. 5:40am. She chuckled to herself. Heather had never been a morning person. At least until she had children. Then, suddenly, those pre-dawn hours became golden. Young kids, like roosters, wake up at dawn. The main difference is that roosters are less noisy.
She could hear Jeff sleeping deeply on the other side of their luxurious king-size bed. He slept until the alarm rang, and so missed out on this quiet time.
Sometimes she got up and enjoyed the house, still and peaceful. A cup of coffee and a moment of silence. Even Rexi, the lab, playing her part by curling up in the kitchen and embracing the calm.
Other times, she remained in bed. Especially in winter, when the flannel sheets, so soft, so warm, formed a veritable cocoon.
But today, she felt unsettled. The dream had been so real. Damon so close she could still feel him. Desire him. Was he thinking of her as well? No. Of course not. Probably not. Maybe? What had they really had? And what did it matter?
Still, thinking of him left her…. God, what? Lusty. That, yes. She tentatively allowed the back of her hand to trail against her pussy. Even through PJs and panties, she shuddered at the sensation. It made her want to do horrible, obscene things to herself.
Jeff took a deep breath. Stirring? No. Still sleeping peacefully.
Heather felt a moment of frustration and then… a wicked thought.
She felt like a kid as she ducked beneath the covers. Her own private fort. Dark and warm and safe.
She edged closer to her dozing husband. He had to work. He deserved to sleep. She didn’t want to wake him. But she couldn’t resist. He was turned toward her, and she reached out and gently brushed her hand against the front of his PJs. He shifted, just a little, and she drew back. But she’d felt it, the back of her hand tickling his prick, not fully erect, but not flaccid either.
Was he dreaming about her? Someone else? She felt a tickle of jealousy at the thought and then a surge of guilt. She reached again for him, more firmly this time. His cock twitched at her touch.
She giggled. It was so silly. Here she was, beneath the covers, teasing her sleeping husband’s prick. But it was also sexy somehow. She and Damon had slept in the nude, and now she wished Jeff hadn’t pulled on his PJs after they’d had sex. If he hadn’t, she might….
And why not? She found the button on his PJ bottom, and popped it open. Then carefully so as to avoid waking him, she easing his cock from his pants. She liked the way it felt, velvety and warm. He was smaller than Damon, but in a good way. Less threatening, manageable, comfortable. She never quite felt she could handle Damon, though she enjoyed trying.
She leaned forward and gently sucked his prick into her
mouth. He moaned in his sleep. She just held him in her mouth, feeling his cock beginning to swell and stiffen. She loved the sensation of it. Feeling him respond to her attention. She reached into her own bottoms and ran her finger across her smooth, shaved skin, and down into her wet, sticky slit.
As he hardened, she slowly swirled her tongue around his now engorged prick. He sighed and squirmed. She knew the sensation was working it way into his dreams, and she wondered how it was being incorporated. He reached under the covers and his hand cupped the back of her head, something he never did when awake. Did he fantasize about doing that to her? Holding her head while he sawed his prick into her mouth? Or was he imagining doing it to a cute intern at his office? What did he fantasize about? Why did they never talk about that sort of thing?
“Oh God, Heather.”
She giggled around his cock and then sucked him harder into her mouth.
“Oh God, what are you doing?”
With one hand now rapidly frigging her clit, she reached into his PJs with the other and massaged his balls even as she began to bob up and down on his hard cock, the salty taste of his pre-come now on her tongue. Faster and faster.
“Heather? Oh God, baby, what’s gotten into you? I don’t know if I can hold out.”
Good. Give it to me.
“Heather, oh God.”
She gave his scrotum a gentle squeeze.
“Heather, no….”
But it was too late. She felt his balls tighten in her palm, his cock swell, and then with a jolt, she felt his warm, slimy, salty come flood her mouth. And at the same moment, she felt a warmth spread across her belly as she came as well.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he exclaimed.
Heather waited until he was done and then slowly let him slide from her mouth. She peek up at him from under the covers. He looked vaguely distraught.
“It’s okay. I wanted you to.”
“But why?”
“I guess I just want to thank you for the vacation.”
“You didn’t need to do that…. Didn’t need to do anything,” he replied.
“I wanted to.”
He seemed puzzled, gears turning, and she wondered if he was replaying the beginning of their conversation from last night.
What’s gotten into you?
But the discussion was cut short by his alarm. 6:00am as usual. Set low out of consideration, but even it served to pre-empt the conversation.
“Have a good day at work, honey,” Heather said with a smile. “I’m going to catch a few more Zs before the kids wake up.”
***
Getting Ally to kindergarten with Becky and Bobby clamoring for attention was the usual chore. It felt surprisingly surreal. The very routine of it unexpected. The sensation redoubled at the playground, with Bobby in the sandbox and Becky spinning circles with her little friends.
Twenty-four hours earlier, she’d been naked in the back of a limo, riding Damon’s huge prick as he fingered her ass.
“Hey, Duckie, lost in thought?”
Heather startled out of her reverie. She blushed desperately, almost as if Trina could read her mind. Which she couldn’t… could she? She shook her head in response to the question in her own mind, but then caught herself and stopped.
“Uh… hi?”
Trina laughed.
“I hope he learned his lesson.”
Heather went wide-eyed.
“What?”
Trina regarded her friend quizzically.
“Jeff? Being with the kids all weekend himself must have, you know, made him appreciate you more. Even an evening alone with ours makes Brad extra attentive.”
“Oh… yeah… right,” Heather replied with a forced chuckle.
“So… um, you okay?” Trina asked.
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
Trina shrugged. “Good color on your cheeks. I like the new color in the hair. But you seem a little… weird.”
Heather forced another laugh. “Just hard to adjust back to the real world. Nice to have nothing more to worry about than which bikini to wear to the pool.”
Trina looked at her skeptically. “No, there is something else going on. Something in your eyes.”
“Nope.”
Heather suppressed a shiver. Did she have a scarlet letter tattooed on her forehead?
“Look, Het, if you ever need to talk, you know.”
Heather shook her head.
Trina continued, “We’ve known each other a long time.”
Heather looked at Trina. She was, as usual, annoyingly well put-together. She made it seem effortless. And maybe it was. Yoga pants, a clingy top, Trina’s long, shiny nearly-black hair in a long ponytail. Heather, by contrast, was feeling frumpy again in her sweats and 5k race t-shirt.
Heather had known her since middle school, since they’d competed for Bryce Banner’s affections. They were not best friends, but had lived in close proximity for a long time, and now with kids the same age, saw more of each other than ever in the past.
“Is it that obvious?” Heather asked.
Trina shrugged. “I’m very empathetic.”
It took Heather a moment to realize she was kidding.
Trina smiled. “But I wouldn’t need to be to see something is wrong. You just seem… sad. And you shouldn’t be coming back from vacay. So either Jeff laid down a guilt trip or….”
“Or what?”
Trina shrugged. “You tell me.”
Heather shook her head. “I can’t.”
Trina nodded. “Sex or money.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the root of 99% of our problems, right? Sex or money.”
Heather groaned. Both, of course. Cheating on Jeff was bad enough. Spending over a thousand dollars on clothes, shoes, makeup, for Damon made it that much worse. She wanted to confess, but it was so hard.
“No. Nothing happened…. But…”
“But?”
Heather took a deep breath. “Well, it’s not about me. It’s, um, a friend of mine.”
Trina nodded and suppressed a grin.
“Okay, so what happened to your friend?”
God, could she really admit all of this? No…. Yes. She needed to talk to someone.
“My friend is happily married.”
Trina snorted. “Aren’t we all?”
“Are we?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t mean we’re dead, does it?”
Heather hesitated.
“So what happened to your friend?” Trina prompted.
Heather sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Big picture?”
“She met a man.”
“Is she in love?” Trina asked pointedly.
Heather shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. Just a fling.” Though even as she said it, it didn’t feel right.
Trina laughed. “So, no harm, no foul. She didn’t mention it to her husband, did she?”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever,” Trina replied sternly. “At least not if your friend wants to stay married.”
Heather sighed. “I…. My friend isn’t good at keeping secrets.”
“This’ll be good practice for her.”
“Don’t you think her husband has a right to know?”
“Maybe?” Trina shrugged. “But right or not, he doesn’t want to know. I can promise you that.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because no man wants to hear that his wife banged another dude.”
Heather knew that was wrong. She thought back to Damon’s story of men wanting to see him screwing their wives. She blushed at the thought. But God, that would be convenient, wouldn’t it? What if it did turn Jeff on? What if hearing about what she’d done with Damon got him wild? And what if he encouraged her to do it again.
Trina laughed. “Earth to Duckie, you still there?”
“Why do you call me Duckie?”
Trina laughed. “I don’t know. Does it bother you?”
“I… I’m not sure. I don’t think of myself as a ‘Duckie.’ But then again, I might not be the best judge of what I really am.”
“Heather, that’s a good thing. Isn’t it nice to think that you can sometimes surprise yourself?”
“I don’t know.”
A sudden scream from the playground. “Mommmmyyyyyyy!”
They both looked up.
Trina’s boy, Braden, was on the ground, wailing after a fall.
“Mine,” she said with the quiet confidence of a mom who know this was a passing crisis. “Look, I’m running around all day, but drop by tomorrow, during nap time? We can have a drink and finish the convo. Kay-kay?”
Trina held her gaze until Heather nodded her agreement.
She watched the slender brunette gracefully sweep her son into her arms. Trina was sexy. She’d always been. Even as a fucking middle schooler she’d had it. And that wasn’t Heather… or was it? Damon had made her feel like she was. Heather didn’t want to lose that feeling. But what about Jeff?
***
Heather continued to feel off, a little tingly, but even more, she couldn’t seem to keep her mind from roaming.
The grocery store was familiar. The routine of shopping for the family prosaic. Even with her kids close at hand, riding in the cab of the plastic fire engine wrapped around the shopping cart, she couldn’t stop herself from having the wickedest thoughts.
Everything seemed to trigger thoughts of Damon. She spied a pile of long, thick cucumbers, which even in normal times seem designed to provoke lewd thoughts, but which now brought forth a shockingly powerful memory of that first night they’d made love.
He’d already made her come twice, or was it three times, and now, she was on her back, her knees pinned to her chest, and he was above her. His huge prick, hard and glistening. He’d told her to watch as he filled her, again and again.
Heather was glad to have the cart to hold on to. The memory was so intense, it left her lightheaded.
Then, wheeling down the cereal aisle, surrounded by colorful, cartoon-festooned boxes designed to lure children’s attention, she caught one of the stackers eying her behind. It wasn’t something she would have noticed before. But now she did. And she remembered Damon’s claim that every man she passed wanted to sodomize her. Did the stacker? He didn’t catch her eye. Instead, he was now intensely studying the back of a cereal box to avoid her gaze. What was he thinking of? Of dragging her into the back of the store? Bending her over a stack of boxes, wrenching of her jeans and taking her from behind? It was a frightening thought… and maybe a little sexy, at least the idea of it.
